


Vulnerability/Control

by iminthewrongstory



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Developing Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Light Bondage, Mission Fic, POV Female Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-27
Updated: 2013-02-07
Packaged: 2017-11-27 04:57:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/658240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iminthewrongstory/pseuds/iminthewrongstory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So there they were, enjoying what amounted to a vacation in paradise on the company’s dime, and Natasha couldn't relax.  She was tense and irritable, all because she was having trouble not jumping her partner.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Vulnerability

**Author's Note:**

> Set between Iron Man and Iron Man 2. Caution, random pop culture references dropped.
> 
> Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Marvel, Disney, Joss Whedon, etc. I'm just playing in their sandbox.

Natasha Romanoff was good at many things. She was fluent in a dozen languages and conversant in half a dozen more. She could break into a building or a computer system seamlessly and leave without a trace. She could commit large chunks of data to memory and pick a face out of a crowd. She could kill a person in a hundred different ways, depending on the circumstance and potential weapons available.

But more than anything, she was good at simulating desire. Regardless of how unsavory the deeds, repugnant the personality, or off-putting the appearance, the Black Widow never failed to seduce her mark. It was laughably easy. A sidelong glance, a slow blink, a few not-quite-casual touches, a quick indrawn breath, a finely-calibrated smile – that was all it took. They believed she wanted them, so they wanted her. And they were willing to do all manner of stupid things to get her.

On the other hand, what Natasha wasn’t good at was actually _feeling_ desire.

Oh, she was familiar with physical pleasure. She took care of her own needs the same way she did everything – neatly and efficiently. She’d gone to bed with a handful of people in the years since she’d joined the side of the angels, and that had been nice. But it was very much like scratching an itch. It felt good, but it wasn’t something she thought about when she wasn’t in the moment.

But focused, intense, autonomous-nervous-system-going-haywire, accept-no-substitutes desire for a specific person? That wasn’t anything she’d experienced before. And she hated it.

There was really no help for it. She was going to have to kill him.

Explaining that to their superiors might be difficult. She could imagine the look on Coulson’s face, that patient blankness that meant he wasn’t expecting to like and/or believe was he was about to hear. “Come on, Phil, we both knew this would happen eventually. He’s been pissing me off for almost ten years.” Hmm, if she managed to time it right, like after the next time Clint booby-trapped Coulson’s office (and there would always be a next time), Phil might actually buy that. Hell, if she framed Clint for messing with Phil’s Captain America trading cards, their handler might even help her hide the body.

What she could not do was tell the truth. That was so beyond unacceptable that there wasn’t even a word for it. “I’m sorry, I had to neutralize Agent Barton because my sexual frustration was becoming a distraction in the field. Have you seen his ass? And his arms? And that goofy little smirk he does when he’s gotten one over on me, which never happens but sometimes I let him think that it does?”

Yeah, that would go over well. The most effective team in SHIELD history, brought down by her inability to stop thinking about tearing her partner’s clothes off and fucking him into next week.

“Are you really going to stay under that umbrella the whole time? What’s the point of coming down to the beach if you’re not getting any sun?”

Natasha looked up from her book, over to where her partner stood knee-deep in the surf. “I have sensitive alabaster skin,” she responded haughtily.

He snorted. “Yeah, and you practically marinated in sunblock before we left the room! Come on, Audrey, live a little.”

Though they had completed their current mission objectives, they were still undercover. No sense breaking a useful alias without reason. She was Audrey Shumacher, IT analyst. Clint was her husband David. They were in Oahu so she could attend a network security symposium hosted by Stark Industries.

In reality, they had been sent to track an espionage ring with rumored connections to Stark. The conference had started on Thursday and they’d gotten everything they needed by Friday.

Initially, Natasha had balked at being sent on this mission. It was the kind of detail junior agents pulled when they were first clocking field experience. There was almost no chance of confrontation. They didn’t even have a handler along for the ride. Coulson had spent enough time being a thorn in Tony Stark’s side that there was a risk of him being recognized by the low-level staffers putting on the festivities.

Clint had elbowed her in the ribs and tugged her out of Coulson’s office (which only worked because she’d been so surprised; usually she did that to him). He’d pointed out that the stupidly easy mission came with a long weekend at a swanky hotel in Hawaii. As far as he was concerned, it was a reward.

So there they were, enjoying what amounted to a vacation in paradise on the company’s dime, and Natasha couldn't relax. She was tense and irritable, all because she was having trouble not jumping her partner.

“You should have put on sunblock, too,” she said. “You’re going to burn and I’m not taking care of you.” Even at that distance she could tell he rolled his eyes. He waved to the people he’d been swimming with and sauntered towards her.

Between her sunglasses and her book, she did a creditable job of pretending to ignore him until he stopped at the edge of the towel she was lying on. “I’ll make you a deal,” he offered. “I put on sunblock and you come play with us.” The hotel’s private beach was swarming with the younger conference attendees and the teenaged children of the older attendees. After two days, Clint seemed to know all of them.

She sighed and sat up, tucking her legs under her. “Fine, it’s a deal.” She grabbed her backup sunblock (because no way was she sharing the good stuff) and tossed it to him.

This time when she stuck her nose back in her book, she wasn’t just pretending to ignore him. She wasn’t going to watch him rub lotion on his broad shoulders and down the corded muscles of his arms. Or across the golden skin and faint tracery of scars on his chest, or his flat stomach with its intriguing line of hair that started at his navel and disappeared into the low-slung waistband of his swim trunks. Or down the length of his legs, the muscles shifting and flexing as he twisted around, trying to make sure he didn’t miss anywhere.

No, she was definitely not watching his hands on his body. Nor was she imagining _her_ hands on his body. And under no circumstance was she imagining _his_ hands on _her_ body.

She was so focused on what she wasn’t thinking that he took her by surprise when he dropped down to sit in front of her. Fortunately, the only person who would’ve correctly interpreted the slight tightening around her eyes was facing away from her.

He held the bottle out to her. “Wanna do my back?”

Glaring at the acres of warm male skin stretched over solid muscle, she complied as quickly as possible. He grinned at her over his shoulder. “Play now?”

She narrowed her eyes at him and the stripe of pink across his cheekbones. “Did you get your face?”

In one fluid, graceful move, he was on his back with his head in her lap. “Okay, go ahead,” he said with a smirk.

“I do not know why I put up with you,” she responded tartly.

“Admit it, sweetheart, you wouldn’t know what to do without me.”

“I’d probably manage to finish my book. And don’t call me sweetheart.” He just closed his eyes and settled more comfortably against her.

With a long-suffering sigh that she mostly meant, she began smoothing the lotion over his skin. He relaxed even further, his face falling into its resting expression. It was funny – when he zoned out, he looked incredibly stern and intense. Useful for terrifying new recruits and looking like he was paying attention in meetings, but completely misleading. As she had learned almost immediately, he was cheerfully irreverent and casually affectionate with anyone he didn’t actively dislike. With the people he fully trusted – just her and Coulson, and far as she could tell – he was an unrepentant goofball.

But that wasn’t the whole story either. Underpinning everything else about Clint Barton was a layer of steel. It was that core that he accessed when he went into sniper mode. And it was what had gotten him through his shitty childhood with his sense of humor intact. So he was two layers of serious around a layer of ridiculous.

 _Like a pie!_ her inner-Clint voice suggested mischievously.

Damn it. That was part of the problem. She had internalized his presence so much that she could hear him in her head. (Annoying at any time; really disconcerting when she was masturbating.) He was practically a part of her and that was Not Okay.

“Everything okay?” he asked. He must have felt her tense.

“Yeah.” She kept her eyes on the kids frolicking at the edge of the water. “Your fan club’s getting impatient.”

“My fan club thinks I’m the luckiest sonofabitch on the planet,” he responded mildly. He stood up and she let him pull her up with him.

They played Frisbee with the kids, both of them checking their strength, though there wasn’t much he could do about his preternatural aim. When he scooped her up and carried her into the surf, she was fully Audrey Shumacher, shrieking and laughing and struggling just enough to get her husband to tighten his arms around her.

* * * * * * * * * *

When the sun started to set, Natasha dragged a pouting Clint back to the hotel. The final event of the symposium was a fancy banquet followed by dancing, and the Shumachers needed to make an appearance.

As she pinned her hair up, Natasha studied her reflection in the bathroom mirror. Her dress was deep green – softly-draping silk with a halter neckline that dropped low in the front and even lower in the back. Truthfully, it was far too formal for the occasion, more Black Widow than Audrey Shumacher, but that was because she’d come prepared for a seduction that hadn’t been necessary at all. (Two glasses of wine, half an hour of doe-eyed “oh you’re a captain of industry” flattery, and the mark had spilled everything Natasha needed to know at the symposium’s welcome reception. Fucking amateurs.)

It felt a little odd to be all dressed up with no one to seduce. Her professional capacity wasn’t needed, her cover wasn’t the type to pick up a playmate for the night, and there was no way in hell she was going to unleash her wiles on her erstwhile “husband.”

It had taken a long time for Natasha to be able to trust Clint. It was somewhat amazing that she’d made it there at all. At first she’d hated him because he made her feel off-balance and out of control. He neither desired nor feared her, just treated her with the same casual camaraderie as anyone else. She’d had no idea how to take that. Her background hadn’t prepared her for the concept of friendship.

“Hey Tasha, have you seen my cufflinks?” Clint called through the partially-open door.

Natasha scowled. “They’re in your shaving kit. They’re always in your shaving kit,” she muttered, more to herself than to him. For some reason, whoever made the wardrobe decisions for their undercover work was determined to put Clint in French cuffs, despite his absolute inability to keep track of the necessary jewelry. She often found that amusing, but today it just grated further on her nerves.

She slid one last pin into her upswept hair, dabbed perfume behind her ears and between her breasts, grabbed Clint’s cufflinks and her earrings, and stepped out into the main part of their hotel room.

Clint looked her up and down, his gaze warm but not leering. “Gorgeous,” he pronounced matter-of-factly.

“Thanks,” she responded in the same bland tone. Years of training kept her teeth from clenching and the frustrated bitterness out of her voice. “You don’t look too bad yourself.”

With his white dress shirt, he was wearing buff-colored linen trousers; when he’d tamed his cuffs, he shrugged on the matching jacket. She turned away to get her shoes and heard him groan softly. “Shit, darlin’, are you trying to kill me?” he teased.

The dress skimmed her sides, leaving her back bare all the way down to the top of her ass. It wasn’t nearly as precarious as it looked, but it certainly made an impression. She deftly buckled her stiletto sandals, stood, and raised one eyebrow at her partner. “Come on, hot shot, let’s go break some hearts.”

* * * * * * * * * *

For Clint and Natasha, dancing was a lot like sparring. They were both graceful, athletic people who were very comfortable in their bodies. They knew each other well enough to be able to predict each other’s moves and trusted each other completely. However, Clint really liked to dance (though he’d never admit it) while Natasha really didn’t unless she was dancing with Clint (and she’d never admit that). So after dinner – decent food, fantastic wine, typical for a Stark bash – the partners separated. Natasha kept to the sidelines, chatting with her fellow conference attendees and information-gathering under the guise of networking. Clint made one casual circuit of the room, greeting the younger people he’d gotten to know, then spent the rest of the evening dancing with the older women. He might have been doing the same low-level espionage, or he might just have been having fun. From where she stood, Natasha couldn’t tell.

She was ready to call it a night before too long, even with the mission completed and the risk of violence almost nil. Audrey Shumacher was a bubbly extrovert and she was beginning to give Natasha a headache.

With that in mind, she sought out the husband of Clint’s current dancing partner. They made small talk while they watched their spouses.

“I can’t help but wish my wife still looked at me like that,” the man said ruefully.

Natasha’s head snapped around. “Oh, please don’t think anything of it, David’s a terrible flirt but he would never –“

He cut her off with a small chuckle. “Forgive me, Ms. Shumacher, that came out badly. I didn’t mean to imply any impropriety. Rather, I miss when my wife looked at me the way _you_ look at your husband.”

Behind her bland exterior, Natasha was dismayed. It was good that their aliases were so solidly believable. The problem was, she hadn’t been looking at Clint the way Audrey looked at David. At least, not intentionally.

She was still processing that when the song ended and the dancers returned to them. Before she could signal that she was ready to leave, Clint was tugging her onto the dance floor. He gave her his best sad-puppy face when she hesitated.

The band was playing something with a slow waltz beat. They automatically settled into the proper form. Natasha focused on a spot over Clint’s shoulder and resolutely ignored the feeling of his big, warm, archery-roughened hand against her bare back.

He only let her get away with that for a few moments. Her heels put them almost at the same height, so he just had to tilt his head to catch her eyes. “Everything okay?”

“Of course,” she answered automatically. He waited her out until she added, “Just ready to be done.”

“Tired of sun and sand and 24-hour room service?” He smiled, guiding her closer until she rested her head on his chest. “I could stand another week or so.”

“Only if we never leave the room.” She didn’t even realize she’d used the wrong pronoun until she felt his breath catch.

“Is that as interesting as it sounds?” His words came out on a chuckle, but there was an underlying strain in his voice that wasn’t familiar at all. But when she lifted her head to glare at him, he was wearing the cocky smirk she’d seen thousands of times before.

It had taken her a long time to understand – then even longer to admit, even to herself – that what she was feeling for Clint was desire. Now she was left with the problem of not being able to do anything about it.

It was ironic, really. She’d spent so long piecing together a stable sense of self apart from the lethal seductress she’d been trained to be. Clint had been instrumental in the process, not only in offering her the chance to change her path, but in the unquestioning support he’d given her in the years since. She couldn’t – she _wouldn’t_ – use any of the Black Widow’s tricks to get him into bed. She liked and respected the asshole too much to even try. He’d end up hating her for manipulating him and hating himself for giving in.

The only thing worse than the Black Widow seducing Clint would be the Black Widow trying and failing to seduce Clint. All the above would apply, plus she would be both humiliated and unfucked.

No, if she wanted him, she was going to have to be straightforward and honest about it. No hiding behind walls or personae, just lay everything out, leave herself completely vulnerable.

She’d never been more terrified.

* * * * * * * * * *

They made their way from the conference center to their room in companionable silence. Clint immediately shrugged off his jacket and started unbuttoning his shirt. He stilled when Natasha squared her shoulders, took a deep breath, and said, “There’s something I need to tell you.”

“Everything okay?” he asked, unconsciously echoing himself from earlier.

“I really, really want to have sex with you.”

His forehead wrinkled in a frown and he shook his head briskly as if to clear it. “What? I’m sorry, I thought I heard you say…” His voice trailed off as she reached one hand to the back of her neck and yanked on the closure of her dress. The only sound in the room was the soft slither of silk pooling at her feet. She lifted her chin a fraction, standing before him in nothing but a black lace thong, thigh holster, and heels.

“Holy fucking hell,” he breathed softly, “Tasha, what are you doing?”

“I’m not sure,” she admitted, then rushed on before he could reply, “I’ve been thinking about this for a long time, but I didn’t want to say anything because you’ve never given me any indication that you might – which was great when I was still leveling out but then I started thinking about you naked all the time – which is really distracting, especially when you’re on the comm and I’m supposed to be –“ She snapped her mouth shut, mortified by the fact that she was so off-balance that she was actually babbling. Still, he just stared at her. “Um, Clint? Feedback would be appreciated.”

“I am the luckiest sonofabitch on the planet,” he said in that same deliberate, almost reverent tone. Then he flashed her a wolfish grin that curled her toes and made her thighs clench.

He stalked towards her, flicking open the last few buttons of his shirt. He sank to his knees and wrapped his arms around her hips, pressing his face against her belly.

For a moment, Natasha was frozen. None of her fantasies of Clint had included this depth of tenderness. But she’d never sought out sex with someone she already cared about before. Of course it was going to be different. She pushed her fingers into his sandy hair, acknowledging the embrace if not quite returning it.

He released her, sitting back on his heels. He trailed his hands from her hips to her feet. The buckles on her shoe straps looked impossibly tiny under his hands, but he worked them open easily and helped her step out. Then he carefully removed her holster, checking the clip of her gun before setting it aside. Finally, he drew her thong off. As she braced herself on his shoulder so he could remove it completely, she pushed his shirt off.

Very slowly, he raised his eyes to her face, taking in every detail of her naked body along the way. The look her gave her was so scorching that it went a long way towards making up for the months of believing he was indifferent to her.

His position should have been subservient, kneeling at her feet with his arms behind him, still in the sleeves of his shirt. But Natasha felt at the mercy of her reaction to him – short of breath, flushed, aching in her breasts and between her legs. Instinctively she fought to suppress her response, or at least mask it. _Honesty_ , she reminded herself. She took a deep breath and tried to relax.

At that moment, Clint tried to reach for her but was stopped short. His expression went from predatory to shocked to disgruntled and he muttered, “Fucking cufflinks.”

The tense moment was broken so thoroughly that Natasha started laughing. Clint glared at her but his eyes were dancing. He freed his wrists with a yank, sending his cufflinks skittering across the floor. Then he stood and captured her mouth with his.

They had kissed dozens of times before, always as part of a mission. It was bizarre but somehow _right_ that their first kiss as themselves was playful, with him nipping at her lips as she chuckled.

She arched against him and they both gasped as their bare torsos connected. From there it was easy to deepen the kiss. Slowly, thoroughly, they explored each other.

Clint’s hands slid up into Natasha’s hair. He gently plucked out the pins, dropping them unheeded to the carpet. She tugged on the fastenings of his pants. It was the work of a moment to get them and his underwear shoved down his legs. She took the opportunity to slide her hands over the contours of his ass in the process.

With a graceful movement very much like how they’d been dancing, he guided her away from the tangle of clothes at their feet. They tumbled onto the bed still clinging to each other.

Several long moments passed in a blur of sliding limbs and increasingly desperate kisses. Natasha worked her hand between them and wrapped her fingers around his impressive erection. Encouraged by his groan, she stroked him firmly.

With a half-strangled laugh, he pulled his mouth away from hers and grabbed her wrist. “Slow down, sweetheart. We’re just getting started.”

She finally had him naked and aroused; all she needed now was him inside her. “I want you,” she said with a squeeze for emphasis.

The smile that lit up his face made her insides flutter even as he removed her hand from his cock. “You’ve got me,” he reassured softly. “But I’m just a man, darlin’, and if you keep that up I’m liable to go off like a rocket. Don’t want to do that just yet.”

Natasha let him ease her over onto her back, but this wasn’t going the way she’d expected and the urge to bolt was growing. Clint seemed to sense that. He braced himself on one elbow at her side and used his free hand to stroke soothingly down the length of her body. He dropped his head so she could feel his lips brush her neck as he spoke. “But you – you’ve got this incredible woman’s body. I want to find every sensitive spot, every place that makes you squirm or sigh or scream. I want to make you come over and over, with my hands and my mouth, until you beg me to stop. Will you let me do that, Tasha?”

She shifted enough so that she could meet his gaze. He held steady, those fathomless blue-gray-green-gold eyes full of lust and affection and confidence. She trusted him with her life. Why was trusting him with her body so much harder?

It wasn’t too late. She could walk out of there, find someone else who’d be grateful for the chance to sleep with her and wouldn’t question her control of the situation. Clint would understand and get past it, go back to being her partner and friend. But she didn’t want anyone else; she wanted Clint. That was the bottom line.

Not that she was willing to say all that out loud. “This better be worth it, hot shot,” she said with a frown.

He smirked, which ordinarily made her want to hit him but right then just turned her on more. “I’ll do my best.” With that, he leaned down again and kissed her.

God, he was a good kisser – focused and patient and deliberate. It was less like foreplay and more like a sex act in itself as his tongue playfully dueled with hers. She undulated against him and was rewarded by his hand coming up to caress her breasts. He toyed with her nipples until they were hard and aching. The pads of his fingers were rough with calluses but his touch was incredibly gentle. The combination threatened to drive her crazy.

He released her mouth and moved to her neck. She turned her head to give him better access and he closed his teeth on the exposed tendon, making her shudder hard. As he nibbled and licked his way down, she gasped, “Don’t – don’t you dare leave a mark.”

He laughed as he pressed a kiss into the hollow of her throat. “Yes, ma’am.”

She would have rolled her eyes and said something cutting, but he had reached her breasts and she was having trouble formulating a thought that didn’t contain the words “harder” or “more.”

He lavished her tits with teasing attention. Gentle, nibbling kisses. Circles around her nipples with the tip of his tongue. He’d close his lips around one of the hard buds and suck, but not hard enough or for long enough to do more than enflame her. She writhed, fisting her hands in his hair, wrapping her leg over his hip, trying to get him to stay where she needed him. He easily evaded her efforts and kept going at his own maddening pace.

Finally, she was swearing at him in every language she knew and threatening his future abilities in bed. As if that were his cue, he stopped teasing, slid two fingers through the wet heat between her legs, and began stroking her clit. He focused his considerable powers of concentration on her responses and quickly found the angle, pressure, and speed that worked best. Within seconds, she was gasping and moaning. She wrapped one arm around his shoulders and grabbed onto the forearm draped over her hip, digging her fingers into his solid muscles, feeling them flex as he pushed her towards orgasm.

“That’s it, baby,” he whispered against her skin, “come for me.” All her muscles went taut as she slipped over the edge into climax. At the same moment, he closed his teeth on her nipple and thrust his fingers inside her.

Natasha tipped her head back and screamed.

When she returned to herself, still pulsing with aftershocks, she opened her eyes to find him studying her with an unbearably smug look on his face. “Wow,” he said, “I really never pictured you as a screamer.”

“I don’t scream,” she shot back automatically. That, of course, was inane so she added, “Generally.”

“Because I’m just that awesome.”

“Or it was a fluke.”

“Now that sounds like a challenge,” he observed, trailing kisses down her stomach. Before he got anywhere interesting, he stopped and met her eyes. “Permission to proceed?”

She didn’t deign to respond in words. Placing the heel of her hand against his forehead, she shoved lightly.

He took the hint and continued downward. His hands pinned her thighs open as he dragged his tongue between the drenched folds of her sex.

Her hands shot out to brace against the headboard as she pushed herself up to meet his mouth. He just held her tighter and focused his attention on her clit. Easily picking up her rhythms, he licked and sucked until she came again.

Natasha was trying to get her breathing back under control when he slid two thick fingers back inside her. Instinctively her muscles clenched around him, causing shards of pleasure to shoot through her belly and down her legs. She moaned softly.

“Yeah, I knew this was going to be a bad idea,” he said between kisses on her inner thigh.

“What? Why?” she demanded. Or at least she tried to. He curled his fingers and began rubbing small, firm circles over her g-spot, so what she actually said was, “Wha – _ohgodfuckthereyes_.”

“Now every time I get bored during debriefing, I’m gonna be thinking about how sweet and tight your pussy is. How good you taste. How you moaned my name when you came on my tongue. And most of all, how incredibly fucking gorgeous you look right now.”

Her first two orgasms had been quick and sharp. This one rolled through her in deep waves. The voluptuous pleasure suffused her entire body, throbbing in counterpoint to the movement of his hand and the husky timbre of his voice.

He worked a third finger into her passage as she pulsed around him, then pursed his lips around her clit again and sucked hard.

She lost touch with reality for a moment. She saw stars and distantly heard herself scream his name. For a length of time she couldn’t measure, nothing existed except her body in ecstasy.

When she finally managed to get her eyes back open, Clint was hovering over her. He was no longer smug – there were beads of sweat at his hairline and his pupils were blown wide. Natasha found these signs vaguely reassuring, that no matter how calm he sounded, he was as lust-addled as she was.

“Condom?” he ground out.

“IUD,” she panted. “Med screen?”

“Clear.”

“Me too.”

“Thank fuck.” He reached down to position himself and thrust his full length inside her in one smooth, hard motion.

Holy shit, he was bigger than she’d anticipated. Her eyes slammed shut and she hissed a desperate breath between her teeth, unable to focus on anything besides the delicious stretch of her inner muscles enveloping him. He froze and said her name, concern heavy in his voice.

“Jesus, Barton, your cock is fucking _huge_.” She hadn’t actually meant to say that, but apparently the mind-blowing orgasms had completely destroyed the filter separating her brain and her mouth.

When he didn’t respond, she glanced up at him and the look on his face was so confused (and slightly alarmed) that she started laughing. She’d never done that in bed before. Sex, even when it felt really good, was never what she’d call fun and certainly never funny. But Clint played her body like one of his beloved bows and made her come so hard she practically turned inside-out, yet still wound up with a dopey look on his face and made her laugh because she felt so good and so safe in his arms. That ineffable sense of _rightness_ washed over her again, which should probably concern her, but at the moment she was writhing beneath her best friend’s gorgeously chiseled body, impaled on the thickest, hardest cock she’d ever imagined, and laughing made her pelvic muscles tighten up and her brain shorted out again.

“You’re incredible,” he muttered against her lips, and she didn’t know if it was a compliment or a complaint. But she didn’t care; she was too busy sucking the bright, tangy flavor of her pussy off his tongue and gripping his hips with her thighs as he pounded into her.

He braced himself on one arm and worked the other underneath the small of her back. The change in angle pressed him against her clit with each thrust. She dug her nails into his shoulders, raked them down his back, and sobbed into his mouth.

She fought against her oncoming orgasm. At that moment, she wanted nothing more than to watch Clint’s face as he climaxed inside of her. But the relentless pleasure was too much. He dipped his head and sucked her breast into his mouth; she came so hard and so suddenly that she practically bucked him off.

He slipped out of her body and out of the bed while she was still shivering and gasping. He returned with a cup of water from the bathroom, which she drank gratefully. She was too sated to protest – or even really notice – when he started rearranging her position on the bed. He guided her onto her side, then drew her top leg toward her chest and pivoted her further so that her knee was braced on the bed. Natasha was comfortable but deeply confused until Clint straddled her bottom leg and eased his still-hard cock back into her pussy.

“How are you still going?” she demanded on a shuddering breath. His only response was a slightly strained chuckle.

Pinned down as she was, Natasha had no leverage and could barely touch or even see Clint. The sense of vulnerability was close to overwhelming. She squirmed a bit, wanting to test the limits of her position before calling a halt. Clint, sensing her ambivalence, stayed still.

She arched her back, tilted her pelvis, and suddenly found his erection nestled right up against her g-spot. The sound that escaped her throat was part whimper, part whine, and all pleasure. “Better grab onto something, sweetheart,” Clint purred, satisfaction rich in his voice.

Under other circumstances, Natasha would never have let him get away with so thoroughly having the upper hand. But at the moment she was too busy trembling on the precipice of what was working up to being a really incredible orgasm, and they hadn’t even started moving yet. She wrapped her hands around the edge of the mattress and dug her fingers in.

His hips jerked against her in short, hard, fast thrusts. She pushed back, holding that delicious angle. He never lost contact with her sweet spot; his cock dragged over it again and again and again. She buried her face in the pillow and screamed, a high, keening sound that went on and on. Fireworks burst behind her eyelids. She was transformed into a creature of heat and want and throbbing, shimmering ecstasy.

The feeling continued, unabated, less like a climax than an altered state of being, until he buried himself deep inside her and came with a ragged moan. He eased away and collapsed behind her on the bed. For a long time they lay there, fighting for breath, sweat cooling on their bodies.

“Hey Tash, are you okay?” He turned to her, nuzzling the back of her neck and gently stroking her hip.

“I can’t feel my legs,” she said faintly. Rolling over, she met his concerned gaze and started laughing. Again. The whole situation was ludicrous – she’d just wanted to scratch the inconvenient itch she’d developed for the only man she’d ever truly trusted. And somehow, she’d gotten her world rocked in the best way possible.

He gave her a look that was affection and exasperation in equal measure and pulled her into his arms.

“I don’t cuddle,” she mumbled into his chest.

“I know,” he agreed softly, combing his fingers through her hair. “You don’t scream, either.”

She made a disdainful noise, but sleep claimed her before she could formulate a proper response.


	2. Control

Sometime during the night, Natasha felt Clint ease away from her and pad softly to the bathroom. She took the opportunity to settle more comfortably on one side of the big bed. When Clint returned, he understood and pressed a kiss to her shoulder before sprawling out on his own side.

When she woke again, the windows were full of pearly dawn light. This time, she was the one to slip away.

They had to check out of the hotel by 11 am and catch an early-afternoon flight back to headquarters. Natasha smirked to herself; she had plans for the intervening hours. After a quick shower, she returned to the bed.

Clint was asleep on his stomach with both hands tucked under the pillow. Natasha ghosted her fingertips over the fresh scratches on his shoulders. She felt an odd surge of possessiveness and arousal at the sight of the marks she’d left on him.

Flattening her hands, she drew them slowly all the way down his body as he stretched and hummed appreciatively. She knelt between his legs, placed her lips on his left calf, and began working her way back up. With her hands and mouth she traced the lines of muscles and tendons under warm skin and coarse hair, feeling them clench under her teasing touch. He flinched when she reached the curve of his ass. She couldn’t resist nipping him there to make him do it again before going back down his right leg.

Finally she turned her full attention to his ass. There was a consensus at SHIELD that Clint had the best butt in the business and Natasha was not inclined to disagree. It was round and taut, practically begging to be kneaded and kissed and bitten. (When he yelped and moved as if to turn over, she gave it a brisk smack – also very satisfying – and told him to behave.)

She lapped at the deep dimples above the base of his spine, carved there by his muscle definition and a source of endless fascination for her whenever he was shirtless. Moving up to straddle his hips, she trailed her tongue along his spine before pressing herself full-length along his back.

They were a perfect fit. She nestled into him, her soft curves conforming to the planes and valleys of his tightly muscled body. She wiggled her hips until her open pussy was flush against the small of his back.

“God, you’re so wet,” he groaned. “Gonna fuck yourself on me, baby?”

“Mm-hmm,” she agreed languidly, rocking against him. Her breasts rubbed his back and her clit dragged over his tailbone. The lazy rhythm pushed her into an orgasm spurred on by the tension in his body underneath hers and the increasingly desperate stream of obscenities he was muttering into the pillow as he fought to keep still.

She came with a soft cry and shaking legs. He reared up, spilled her off his back, and pounced. “That was hot as fuck,” he declared before thrusting his tongue into her mouth and his thigh between hers.

There was no way she was ceding the upper hand that easily. She flipped him neatly onto his back and pinned his wrists. “I thought I told you to behave,” she laughed down at him. “Do I have to tie you to the bed?”

The flash of heat in his eyes was unexpected but thrilling. She got up and glanced around the room before fetching the sashes from the fluffy bathrobes the hotel provided. Wrapping his wrists in the soft material, she secured him to the headboard. The knots were tight but not complicated. He could get out of them with very little effort; the idea that he _wouldn’t_ turned her on immensely.

She stepped back and studied him for a moment. His body was a work of art and he’d put himself willingly – happily – at her mercy. She shivered in anticipation.

Climbing on the bed and kneeling at his side, she ran her hands through his thick hair. He made a sound that was more feline than human when scratched down his scalp and around his ears. 

She skimmed her thumbs over his features – eyebrows, stupidly thick lashes shading those incredible eyes, the soft lips and wide mouth that had figured so prominently in her fantasies for months.

His stubble tickled her palms as she cupped his jaw. Slowly, gently, she brushed her lips over his. It was a conversation as much as a seduction when she coaxed his mouth open. She flirted with him, tasted him, teased him, before finally deepening the kiss.

They were both panting when she moved away, trailing kisses down his neck, nibbling delicately, feasting on him. She traced the prominent veins running the length of his arms with her tongue. He turned his head so that her nipple brushed his lips as she moved. She gasped at the unexpected contact but he didn’t press his momentary advantage. They both knew she was in charge.

She returned to his lips briefly before moving downward. His heart pounded under her warm hands and inquisitive mouth. By the time she had acquainted herself with every curve of muscle, every tendon, every scar, by the time she flicked her tongue into his navel and kissed her way down the line of hair below, he was a gasping, shaking wreck.

Sitting back, she regarded his cock. Truth be told, she’d always thought men’s sexual equipment was rather ridiculous, all dangly and vulnerable and apt to respond in ways that were difficult to control or conceal. But Clint Barton, proudly erect and practically pulsing with anticipation, made her breath catch. He was beautiful.

She swirled her fingertips in the beaded moisture at the end of his cock, then gently stroked down his length. He arched under her touch, his body forming a stunning curve as all his muscles pulled taut, straining against his bonds. “Tasha, please,” he begged through gritted teeth.

She laughed as she repeated the caress. The warm, husky sound made his cock jerk and her pussy clench. She wrapped her hand around his thick shaft and pumped, enjoying the contrast of silky skin over steel. Her other hand cupped his balls, fingers lightly rubbing over the furred sac.

His eyes slipped closed as she worked him. His hips thrust up to meet her slow, careful rhythm. She watched his face closely as she scooted back and leaned down, so she wouldn’t miss his expression as he felt her breath a moment before she took him in her mouth.

“Mother of god –“ he bit out as her lips slid down, enveloping him in hot wetness. Her tongue teased over ridges and veins as she took him deep, then she sucked hard on the way back up. She repeated the movement over and over, slowly, occasionally releasing him to lap at the tight head of his penis. He never stopped making noise, though he quickly lost the ability to form coherent words.

She felt the telltale tremors a moment before he marshaled his senses enough to gasp, “Tasha, I’m gonna –“ She appreciated the gentlemanly impulse even though she had no intention of stopping. She didn’t take her eyes off his face as she quickened her attentions. He came hard, shouting, spurting into her mouth. She swallowed the salty fluid and kept going, milking his body of every last spasm, until he collapsed back, sated and exhausted.

She left him with a fond nuzzle and went to get a glass of water. When she returned, she slipped into his discarded dress shirt, pulled one of the room’s chairs close to the bed, and waited.

It took several minutes for his eyes to flutter open. “Hey there, beautiful,” he rasped with a lazy smile. He accepted the water she held out, then asked, “Wanna untie me so I can return the favor?”

“Oh, I’m not done with you yet, cowboy,” she responded as she settled back into the chair, hooking one leg over the arm. “I plan on fucking you into that mattress as soon as you return to the land of the living, so to speak.” She nodded at his now-soft dick, which twitched as if in acknowledgement.

He groaned. “Always knew you’d be the one to kill me. I just never figured I’d like it so much.” She laughed at that, and they subsided into comfortable, contented silence. Finally, he said, “So want to do something while I recover?”

“Is it going to take that long?”

“I don’t know, darlin’. It’s been a long time since I was sucked dry like that.” He paused, reconsidering. “No, I’ve _never_ been sucked dry like that. You’re in a class by yourself.”

She smirked. “Fine, then. Talk to me.”

“Tell you a story? Once upon time there was this gorgeous redhead, that kind of thing?”

She nudged his ribs with her toes. “Until last night, I really thought you weren’t attracted to me at all.”

He laughed so hard he snorted. “And you said I was useless undercover. Come on, sweetheart, you can’t honestly believe that.”

“You never gave any indication you did,” she said with a small frown, “even before you got to know me.”

“Yeah, well, when you first decided to give our side a try, the last thing you needed was another asshole staring at your tits. You needed someone who’d have your six without getting distracted by wanting to bang you. Or _expecting_ to bang you, out of gratitude or repayment or something.” He made a face that she could only classify as acute revulsion. “I may not be a good guy, but at least I’m not That Guy.”

She didn’t agree with his self-assessment but refused to get side-tracked. “But you did want me?” She wasn’t insecure, though she was aware she sounded like it. The situation they’d found themselves in still didn’t make a lot of sense to her and she was curious about his thought process.

“Yeah, I did. Not that it mattered.”

“Why not?”

“Because that’s not what you needed from me. More importantly, it wasn’t what you wanted from me. And I was fine with that.”

“So you were just waiting for me to make the first move?”

He gave her a look that said quite clearly she was being an idiot. “I wasn’t _waiting_ for anything. I said I was fine with things and I meant it.” He sighed and his hands twitched, as if he’d gone to run them through his hair but had forgotten he was still tied to the bed. “Natasha, you’re the most incredible woman I’ve ever had the privilege of knowing. You’re my partner and my best friend. Whether or not we’re sleeping together has no bearing on any of that.”

They were both quiet again. Finally she said, “I just…I don’t want you to do this because you feel obligated, either.”

She braced herself, unsure of how he was going to react to something that sounded silly even as she said it. But he just gave her a soft, melting smile. “Sweetheart, I’ve spent more time that I’d like to admit thinking about the two of us getting recreationally naked. The past twelve hours have been something out of a fucking fantasy.”

She smiled back as the tension seeped out of her body. The bad kind, that was; the good kind was coming back. “I have fantasies too, you know.” With a deceptively casual roll of her shoulders, the shirt she’d put on parted fully. She cupped her breasts in her hands and skimmed her fingers over her nipples.

“That so?” His voice was huskier, deeper than it had been a moment earlier. It rubbed over her nerves like velvet on skin. “You think about me when you’re touching yourself?”

“Sometimes.”

“And what am I doing in these fantasies of yours?”

“Nothing.” She gave him a saucy grin. “You just get to watch.”

He chuckled, which sent arrows of sensation down to her core. She shifted her hips, drawing his attention downward. “Can’t say I’ve never imagined watching you play with those gorgeous tits. Among other things, of course.”

She kept rolling and pinching her nipples with one hand while she slid her other hand down her torso. “Other things like this?” she teased.

“Just like that,” he groaned softly in assent. “Show me what you like, baby.”

Her legs were spread so wide, he could see every twitch of the deep pink folds of her sex. Slowly she stroked her pussy, tantalizing both of them, before centering on her clit. She held herself open with her thumb and pinky while rubbing lightly but steadily with the pad of her middle finger.

The pleasure built with breathtaking speed. The sensations were almost doubled – the comfortable, familiar feeling of her own hands, plus the sharper joy of watching the arousal build in Clint’s face and body. When his tongue slipped out to wet his lips, she was done for. The climax took her and she curled in on herself with a breathy cry, never taking her eyes off her partner.

By this point he was fully, achingly hard again. He actually growled at her when she moved to his side and wrapped her come-slicked hand around his cock. She straddled him and rubbed her softness up and down his hardness. They both gasped at the friction.

“God, Tash, if you don’t fuck me –“ His words were threatening but his tone was anything but. Natasha tipped her hips forward and guided his erection into her hot, wet depths. She sank down on him slowly, inch by excruciating inch, reveling in the way he filled her. Maintaining eye contact the entire time, she held still for a moment while her body adjusted. Then she started to move.

The way she rode him was like a dance in constant, sinuous motion. Leaning forward to kiss him or offer her breasts to his mouth. Arching back so far that her hair brushed his thighs. Hips circling, thrusting, grinding. She drew her nails lightly down his chest and his abs contracted, rippling beneath her.

The shifting angles and tempos kept them both hovering on the edge of orgasm for what felt like forever. Finally, though, she reached the point where she was sure she had to come or die. Bracing her hands on his shoulders, she fucked him as hard and as fast as she could.

The results were almost instantaneous. She screamed as the climax tore through her. He was right behind her, unable to hold back as her cunt squeezed him in a satin vise.

Still throbbing around him, she slumped forward onto his chest. She reached up blindly and pulled on the knots securing his wrists. With a quick twist he was free. He plunged his hands into her hair and tugged her up so he could kiss her. It was gentle and passionate as they fed off each other’s mouths while their bodies calmed.

Natasha dozed off with her face tucked against Clint’s neck and his hands moving possessively over her back. When she woke, it was full daylight and Clint was asleep beneath her. “Hey, handsome,” she murmured, nibbling on his ear, “we have to get going.”

He grumbled and tightened his hold on her. “Nope. Gonna stay here.” She giggled, which was so unlike her that he opened one eye and frowned. As his eyes moved over her face, the frown melted into a look of speculation, then blatant want. “Come here, baby, wanna taste you.”

There would probably come a day when Natasha declined having Clint’s mouth between her thighs. Today was not that day. She let him ease her up until she was straddling his face. He ate her out enthusiastically, all nips and sucks and clever, talented tongue. She put one hand on the headboard and held him to her with her other hand buried in his hair. Her hips flexed to his rhythm until she climaxed with his name on her lips.

He slid out from under her and cradled her in his arms. They spent several long minutes kissing luxuriously before stumbling to the shower, where they held each other under the hot spray. The mood was peaceful and sensual as they just enjoyed being able to touch, after having held themselves apart for so long.

“This isn’t going to get weird, is it?” she asked as they packed.

“What isn’t?”

“You and me.” She gestured vaguely. “Recreationally naked.”

He scrunched up his face, pretending to consider that. “Well, I’m sure as hell not any _less_ willing to put myself on the line for you today than I was yesterday.” He caught her hand as she went to poke him in the ribs and pulled her close.

“Be serious,” she admonished, twining her arms around his neck.

“I am being serious,” he responded. “Sex, no matter how mind-blowing, doesn’t change who we are. We won’t let it.”

“And if it does?”

“Then we either deal or stop. Which would be a fucking tragedy, but we’re adults. We’ll get over it.”

She studied him for a moment before leaning up to kiss him. “Okay. No getting weird. That means no PDA, Barton.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he mumbled against her throat. “Fucking frat regs. But it’s not like we can’t keep a secret.”

“We are super-secret spies, after all,” she agreed with mock-solemnity.

“Exactly. Nobody’s gonna know.”

Agent Coulson was leaning on an unmarked SHIELD car when they emerged from the airport later that day, waiting to bring them in for debriefing. He took one look at them, sighed deeply, and removed sunglasses so he could massage his temples with one hand.

“Okay, nobody but Phil’s gonna know,” Clint leaned down to whisper.

Natasha just laughed and bumped his shoulder affectionately with hers before going to greet their handler.


End file.
